  From green to gold The year grows old, With beautiful increase; The seasons wane To ripened grain And Nature’s deepest peace. The same sure plan Is thine, O man! Alike for sod and soul, The law of love,— Enthroned above— That guides thee to thy goal. Have faith in God:— Who gives the clod Its meed of fruit or flower, Shall crown thy cares, Thy tears, thy prayers, With an immortal dower.
|
|
